Trumbull – Dear Dan and Dave (1) – Discharges and Ced is Home – November, 1945

Trumbull, Conn., Nov. 11, 1945

Dear Dan and Dave:

You to being the only outlanders left, the salutation above is correct, although on second thought, it was only about five minutes ago that Lad and Marian left for Aberdeen to make that their temporary home until he is discharged, their hope being that their sojourn will not be long and of course they are hoping to get home on a pass for Thanksgiving. However, they took along a limited amount of housekeeping utensils so that if they are stuck there for any length of time, they will have the ways and means of existing until the Army order finally comes through. Anyway, they will thus have an opportunity of celebrating their wedding anniversary together, which otherwise might not have been possible in view of the fact that obtaining another pass so soon after the one this week, might be difficult to secure. It was Marian’s birthday today so we were able to celebrate that en masse anyway. By all the laws of reason, Lad should be permitted to file his request for discharge in accordance with recent public announcement from Army headquarters, but due to a technicality in the wording, Lad not being on furlough or assigned to temporary duty, is not eligible. Dick is due for return to a camp in South Carolina the day before Thanksgiving, but is today writing for transfer to Fort Devens, which, if granted, with the necessary traveling time, will give him until after Thanksgiving to report there and file his request for discharge. Here’s hoping. As far as we can figure it out now, Aunt Elsie, Anne and Gwen (Stanley) and perhaps Lad’s friend in Aberdeen will be here for Thanksgiving, besides of course, Ced, Dick and Jean, Aunt Betty, myself and I hope Lad and Marian. The Zabels go up to their Trumbull in-laws for that day and here for Christmas. Aunt Helen (Peabody Human) has gone to the Bahamas to join Ted (Human, her husband), and Don Stanley is overseas somewhere.

Ced, in Alaska, with, I believe, a company plane.

          I mentioned Ced. Yes, he’s home. Got home Wednesday night and came in almost like Santa Claus. We were all sitting around the kitchen table, supper just being over, when in through the dining room walks Ced, as nonchalant as you please, having scorned to come in the back door, choosing rather to shinny up the front porch, onto the roof and in through the hall window, this procedure being necessary by virtue of the fact that I had put up storm windows on all the French doors on the ground floor and the front door was locked. He had flown down from Anchorage to Seattle in his own company plane and from there took the train to Ohio, where the Taylorcraft two-seater plane he had ordered was being built. Thence by train to New York, where he stopped in to see Elsie and Aunt Anne before “dropping in” on us here. I am going to ask Ced in a minute to write you a little more about the plane, etc., so I will not go into further details on that now.

The new furnace is in and working (but not paid for yet), and thanks to Dick and Ced, all the storm windows are up — the first time in many years, it seems, that I have not had to do this job myself. I doubt if they realize how much of a help they have been, as Saturday afternoons and Sundays furnish so little opportunity to do what is necessary. Also the little time Lad has been home he has been a great help in furnace regulation and other jobs of a mechanical nature that have needed to be done for a long time. It’s been so good to have three of the boys home together, but naturally only 3/5 as good as the ultimate. Anyway it’s the biggest score we’ve had in quite some time.

Tomorrow, Wednesday and Thursday will complete this long letter from Grandpa to Dan and Dave, and on Friday I’ll post a note from Marian.

Judy Guion

A Message From Virginia of Interest to Alaskans – A Cat Tale – March, 1942

Trumbull, Conn., March 1, 1942

Daniel (Dan) Beck Guion

A Message from Virginia of interest to Alaskans:

Dan writes on 2/26.42:

It seems that the Army knows how to keep us extremely busy especially when I spent my weekend in Washington with one of those snazzy Trumbull belles. Verily, I find time only on Sundays to write to you-all. The income tax still is relegated to pending business. This meager message will have to serve until Sunday. I am well, and too occupied to be dissatisfied with military life.

A Message from Alaska of interest to Virginians:

 

 

Now that this two-way correspondence has been adequately covered I will revert to commonplace doins at home. Well, to start off with Army gossip, Don Whitney, I understand, is now at camp Polk, La., in an armored tank division. I suppose they figured that in the course of his experience at the Stratfield he had become a somewhat familiar with tanks at conventions, etc., and he knew something about running them (out). Chet, so his bride informs us, is at Fort McClellan, Ala., in a training Battalion that has been put in charge of a squad. Today is the first anniversary of Carl and Ethel’s wedding and they have gone down to New York, same as they did a year ago, to celebrate. Dick and Jean were invited to go along with them. Jean (nee Hughes) was also invited but as she had arranged to spend the day making a dress to wear to a visit to her soldier husband she could not go along.

Elizabeth (Biss) Guion Zabel

Last night Elizabeth came for a visit in an effort to see if Dave or someone could not be prevailed upon to come over to her house and take care of the children while she and Zeke went to the movies. As Dave was out and in fact Aunt Betty was the only one home, she unfortunately drew a blank. Butch improved the few minutes he was here by turning on all the switches on the electric stove – – thus proving himself somewhat of a live wire. Lad worked until 3 o’clock today at Producto and Dave hitchhiked back and forth to Newtown where he tried out for a play they are giving. In consequence, my Sunday dinner was served in three installments, 12:30 for Dave; 1:30 for Dick, who got up so late he did not have time to eat more than a tomato, and 2:30 for Lad and the rest of us.

I would that I were gifted with the pen of a Dan or a Rusty so that I could, with a suitable degree of humor, write the Saga of the Warden’s pet cat. It seems that their erstwhile pet from the species felinus, was originally wished on them by some kind friends with the thought it might make a playmate for Skipper. As an innocent little kitten it’s sex was not immediately discernible, but as the days grew into months it became apparent, particularly at nightfall, that this little gray ball of fur was the cat belle of the neighborhood and attracted many ardent suitors whose serenades were the hit (where aiming was good) of the neighborhood, and Guion’s backyard soon became the rendezvous of male adorers from far and near, all bent on the age old idea of propagating the species. Skipper mistook the kitten (emboldened I suppose by hearing his parents talk of the rubber shortage) as an elastic toy and when not tying the animal into knots endeavored to see how far it would stretch. Thus Pussy led a very busy life, dodging Skipper in the daytime and seeking solace and refuge in the amours of sundry admirers at night. One morning as I glanced out of my bedroom window in time to see Dick come home from

Cat Tale no. 2    3/1/42

(I don’t know whether that is the appropriate spelling of tale, under the circumstances) his night shift and before he had time to get into his night shift (pun), he dallied long enough to rescue poor pussy from our Apple tree to which she had evidently been driven by the ardent attention of three or four rivals who patrolled the base of the tree, evidently not fancying the swaying bow as an ideal nuptial couch. There was a gleam in Dick’s eye, and a Mona Lisa smile that forbade no good to someone, although at the time its true significance did not penetrate the state of intelligence that one has attained at that hour of the morning. Anyway, the smile, which I neglected to say was not in his eye, soon turned inward to hibernate for a few days and finally emerge in the guise of a full-fledged idea. I don’t know the shocking details, and never asked questions, but a few mornings later, my 22-cal. Repeater was missing from its accustomed place, and loaded, as I afterwards learned, with bullets supplied by Paul Warden himself, whose job is the inspection of Remington cartridges, was successful in snuffing out a few of the nine lives. Dave, I learned, held the delecti until it became a corpus delecti under the well-placed aim of Deadeye Dick, and thus Skipper lost a flexible companion and the world generations yet unborn of pussycats. The Wardens, who smoke a famous brand of cigarettes, were nonchalant about the whole thing which leads me to surmise if there were not some collusion somewhere along the line. Sleep has been more peaceful of late.

Aunt Betty, who by the way continues to send love every time she sees me writing my weekly outburst, has just reminded me that I neglected to tell Alaska about Trumbull’s visit to Virginia. As per schedule, last Saturday morning Barbara and Lois caught the train which was an hour late at Bridgeport, right through to Washington. On arrival they had a bit of trouble locating Dan at the Camp then spotted him coming out of a telephone booth where he had gone to call them up. They watched the dancing for a while, then went to Washington and had dinner. The girls went to a friend’s house and Dan, after vainly trying to find a hotel where he could put up for the night, finally found a place where he bunked with seven other fellows. Sunday they spent “doing” Washington. Then Dan had to get back to Camp. The girls slept until about noon and took the train home. Apparently they all had a good time and are hoping for a repetition. As far as I could gather the only want of Dan’s I can supply is coat hangers.

This is going to shock Ced. Dick has bought a 1937 Ford sedan from Blue Ribbon for $295. Color green; tires, fair. No heater or radio. Unable to get markers until he furnishes a birth certificate which he has sent for. Did not get markers for Dan’s car. Is intending to write Dan to ask whether he wants his old car sold or put in storage. Dick’s idea is that I use the car daytime for work (thus saving tires on Buick), paying running expenses, while he uses it nights. The main reason for his getting a new car is that I have had to get tough on account of the tire shortage in letting him take the car on frequent occasions when his old car (Dan’s) was too small to accommodate the number of young folks he wanted to go to the movies with, or Stratford, or what have you.

And that just about brings us to the end of the record. So, signing off until next time, this is your same old

DAD

I’l finish out the week with a quick postcard to Lad from a Trumbull friend and another letter from Grandpa to Alaska and Virginia.

Saturday and Sunday will be more Special Pictures. Next week, I’ll be posting letters written in October of 1943 concerning Lad’s marriage to Marian Irwin.

Judy Guion 

Dear Glacier Ced, Sapper Dan and Rustless Rusty – Dan Shows Off Washington – February, 1942

View of the back of the Trumbull House from the barn.

Trumbull, Conn., Washington’s Birthday, 1942

            ) Glacier Ced

Dear   ) Sapper Dan

) Rustless Rusty

Following the W.K. custom whenever a holiday falls on a Sunday, we are celebrating the event tomorrow. (With no work at the office it would be silly to open anyway). Dave has no school but Lad and Dick work just as usual, just as a little gesture to friend Tojo.

The only incoming mail of interest this week was a short note from Rusty written Feb. 10th, mentioning the fact that it was exactly 2 weeks to a day that Ced left on his plane salvaging expedition which Rusty figured would take an additional two weeks to complete. Meantime I have heard nothing from Ced direct. In fact the last letter I got from the culprit was December 28th. I hope you won’t have so much to say when he gets back that he won’t know where to start and puts off writing still longer on that account.

Dan, I suspect, is himself learning a lot he didn’t know about the city of Washington in the process of showing his best girl all the sites. Barbara and Lois Hennigan planned to leave Trumbull yesterday by train for Washington where Dan was to meet them. The girls had made arrangements to stay overnight with friends of Lois’ and I suppose continue their sightseeing tour today, presumably starting home tomorrow. Dan was uncertain how much time off he could obtain but no matter how short they will enjoy it anyway.

There are just ordinary everyday things to write about, such as the furnace going out last night (temperature outside not being any too high either), and Dave and Paul spending the entire morning trying to get the thing into running order again. They had to take out the bricks that sealed up the lower part where the Stoker discharges ashes, clean out all the mock and cement up the hole again. Down in the ash removal channel, where the worm gear operates, they removed a steel bar about a quarter inch thick, 1 ½ wide and 14 inches long that in some strange manner got down where it all but wrecked the whole mechanism, the bar showing evidence by various nicks and smooth beveled edges where the worm gear had evidently tried to chew it up. The furnace seems to be running all right now but it’s hard to say how much damage has been done to its innards. In spite of several attempts to get someone here to look over the works and estimate on what it would take to renovate the entire heating system and make it function like a German fifth column or a Jap invasion plan.

Tuesday Trumbull is to have a blackout test at nine P.M., so if you’re flying over this way at that time don’t expect to see the front porch light on.

Lad was not home to dinner today having been invited down to the Page’s. Elizabeth dropped in at the office during the week and reported Marty had a very bad cold. No word since so I assume everything is all right. One more month of bad weather and then spring, and won’t I be glad. I have a cold myself and have been retiring early nights this week trying to lose it. Maybe this letter reflects a dull brain. If so, I hope it also reflects the love and affection of him who, dear sirs, has the honor to inscribe his initials to the bottom of this here script, in the old familiar way – –

A.D.G.

I’m continuing to post letters written in 1942 when Lad and Dick are at home working in a Bridgeport Plant, Ced is in Alaska, Dan is in the Army at Ft. Belvoir, VA and Grandpa continues to write to those away from Trumbull about local news and bits of interest.

 Judy Guion

Trumbull – Dear No. 2 son and No. 3 son – No News From No. 3 Son – February, 1942

Trumbull, Conn., Feb. 8, 1942.

Dear No. 2 boy and No. 3 boy:

This morning as I arose late, as is my wont of a Sunday morning, and glanced out of my bathroom window up toward the cluster of buildings we associate with the name of Knect, I saw but bare brown fields intervening instead of the snow-covered landscape. Only in our own driveway were isolated patches of ice to remind one that a few days ago a real winter landscape was our portion. The change is due to the fact that for the last two days a steady rain accompanied by a plus 32 degrees of temperature cleared the snow off into the swollen streams. (Exciting way to start a letter, n’est sai pas?)

We are at times driven to such little subterfuges as referred to parenthetically above by the realization that there is little news of importance to record and yet at the same time we are faced with the realization that both Alaska and Virginia are hanging on desperately waiting for news from home, as home, in turn, is waiting just as eagerly for news from you. I have lost track of the number of weeks that have passed since hearing from Ced.

Your letter, Dan, postmarked Fort Belvoir on Feb. 2nd is the last we have heard from you. The scissors and the three Spanish books you asked for were parceled and posted to you last week. I feel a bit guilty about not sending the $10 by return mail but as the scissors was the only item marked “urgent” and as you are quarantined for two weeks and unable to leave camp there didn’t seem any need for funds. For my guidance the next time you need funds will you please let me know whether you would have any bother cashing a check, as I would feel much safer mailing a check than I would five or ten dollar bills. Of course I could have sent you 10 one dollar bills at once but that seemed rather bulky. Anyway, to stop the argument here is the ten.

Now as to the income tax, sure I will pay it, if it is made out in ink and properly signed. The copy I saw, as I recall, was made out in pencil. Do you happen to recall what you did with either copy.

It seemed as though you were sober when you wrote the letter because it is quite rational and your sense of humor was very evident even to the addressing of the letter to me care of Aunt Betty, which little touch by the way she duly appreciated, but between that time and the time you put your return address on the back you must have bent your elbow too often resulting in a slight befuddlemenet of faculties in that Pvt. D. Guion gives his location as Co. D, 4th Btn. ERTC, Ft. Devens, Va. Oh well, we have to be understanding with these boys in love.

My last word of advice to you before we pass on to dishing out a few scathing remarks to Ced, is to be sure to get up in ample time in the morning so you won’t keep the captain waiting breakfast for you.

To Ced: As for you, you great big lanky backslider, is your brain so far from the writing finger on your long arm that it takes all this time to get an action message from one tother? First I blamed the delay to Uncle Sam but I’m getting a little suspicious along about now. Tell Rusty he better jack you up or I’ll be blaming him. Come on, loosen up and tell me what’s happened during the last month. I still have somewhat of a fatherly interest in you.

Aunt Betty sends her best to both of you, but this is one of the many things you may take for granted. Spring must be coming. I got a seed catalog yesterday and we turn the clock ahead tonight.

DAD

 This entire week will be filled with rather short (for Grandpa) letters filled with the usual news of family and friends to Dan, in the Army, and Ced, in Alaska.

Judy Guion

Dear Remnants of a Scattered Family (4) – Comments and an Afterthought – November, 1945

You boys are no more disgusted about union demands than many of us here at home. I have talked to many men in unions who feel the same way about it themselves. Individually, they seem to have no choice if a strike is called. It seems to me a comparatively few men at the top are responsible, and as usual, the far larger, unorganized, white collar or middleman class suffers the consequences. It’s too long a subject for me to discuss here, but I think it’s a crying shame and I am afraid we are mixing ourselves a dose of bitter medicine unless some strong leader steps up and reverses the present trend. As for you

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personally, and the gripping and lowered morale, etc., I know it is awfully easy for the other fellow to sit back and philosophize as long as it doesn’t happen to him, that’s one of the opportunities that come to one when he can join the ranks of the knickers and begin to feel sorry for himself, which, like worry, doesn’t do anyone any good, or he can “turn the cloud inside out to see the silver lining” and refuse to see the gloomy side and try to find out the good things about the situation — so that, for instance, in after years, he will not have to say to himself, “Here I was all set to get the most out of the situation and instead I was so close to the forest I couldn’t see the trees”. Remember Kipling’s poem about “if you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs, etc.”. Just one viewpoint. You say you are getting concerned because the longer the high pointers are delayed in getting home the later you will be. Isn’t it apt to work the other way? There is already a big stink over here about this very thing of the public and radio commentators are getting thoroughly aroused. Even a strike was threatened on stopping work on every ship except those sent to the Pacific and European Theatres to bring boys home, so that they would have to devote them all to that purpose. Now if this tide that is backing up, gets strong enough, when it does burst out it is liable to go to the other extreme and those who wouldn’t otherwise rate a prompt homecoming would be swept in with the flood. Pendulum’s, you know, have a tendency to swing too far, and there is evidence of a strong public sentiment developing. Thanks for the island views, your ideas are so good I hope you will write some more.

Now back to Dan, for something I forgot to mention. You asked me to see what I can do in Washington. Before I can present the matter convincingly, I have to have a much cleaner-cut, concise statement of facts to present than my present knowledge permits, and I would suggest you make this statement in a letter to me which I in turn can turn over to someone in Washington in an effort to get whatever you want, which a civilian in the U.S., writing to the war dept. about a son in France, (status not clear as explained above) would command much attention. I will of course be glad to try with all my energy, if you will supply the ammunition.

Just a few local items before I toddle off to my little trundle bed. Aunt Betty went down to the dentist with Jean last week and had four teeth taken out at one sitting. Next day she was back on the job, washing dishes, etc.

Well at last it happened — after many years of faithful service — more than I know — the old furnace has gone kaput. Last Sunday Lad and I started to drain air out of the radiators — our annual rite — when noticing the pressure was unusually low, we let more water in the system. There was a “pop” and water sprayed out of the back of the furnace. Monday a plumber came to look it over, said it was useless to try to repair it, that he had a used boiler of a modern make (two-years old) which would more than do the job, that new ones were not yet on the market and that he could put it in and connected up with the auto-stoker so I could use the 10 tons of coal in the bids, so I told him to go ahead. Luckily the weather has been mild. They expect to finish tomorrow, so here’s hoping. The bill is yet to come. Here’s hoping twice. Anyhow, you can keep warm when you come home. Here’s hoping three times. And that’s about all the hope I’ve got left tonight.

DAD

Tomorrow and Sunday, more Special Pictures. On Monday I’ll begin posting letters written in 1942

Dear Remnants of a Widely Scattered Family (3) – News From Dave – November, 1945

Last week I bought for you, Dan, a dozen t-sleeve undershirts and shall ship them to you during the week. They will, however, come to you in the regular way via APO 887, as I learn that unless I can continue to send you things at this address, I cannot send at all except at exorbitant rates (airmail is $.30 a half ounce). The Railway Express rumor was false as to shipments to France. They will send to England and Ireland (one dollar a pound, I believe is the rate) but not to the continent, so, unless being a civilian, I cannot send service men’s boxes to your army address, we will have to watch shipping expense, as the fund you have is being rapidly diminished. For instance, on the camera business, when they again become available, which apparently is not this year, the thing you should do is to write me specifically just what you want, let me order it, sell your old camera and forward me the money, as I don’t think you want your war bonds cashed, or do you? I also can’t quite get through my head what your status is now. You say you are a civilian and are addressed as Mr., yet you still have an APO army address. You are employed by the civil service and yet you say you are a war dept. employee; that you have to wear an army uniform while you are on the job. If you are a civilian, why the Army uniform? If in the Army, what office do you hold — private, your former rank or are you an officer? In any event, why the Mr.? And how can you be working for the war dept. and still get paid by the civil service? It is all rather confusing to a layman!

I showed Elizabeth Paulette’s circular about baby bottles and she said, based on the experience of those she has talked to who have used this type, Paulette is likely to be disappointed in that the bottles seem to leak out the wrong hole and get things wet and stained. And by the way, tell Chiche I have sent to all the publishers I can find listed of baby magazines and have asked for sample copies, which I will send her to look over and if there is one or two she particularly likes, I can subscribe to them for her. No, I have not sent any additional knitting wool, but shall do so. And by the way, Marian and I are not alone responsible for the purchase of the things you have received for Paulette. Jean also spent time and effort, and I was just a wee bit concerned that I had not made this clear to you and Paulette. Both girls have given willingly and enthusiastically of their time and interest and deserve far more credit than I. Maybe it’s a good thing you didn’t need your suits because I don’t know just what the moths have left. In spite of the good care Jean has given to Dick’s things, the moths have been busy and Dick, since this experience,

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has been moved to construct a moth-proof closet in the corner of Lad’s old attic room (of fire days memory), which he has been working rather steadily on since he has been home. Just had a letter from the Burnett’s, Dan, in answer to my announcement, which I will enclose.

Now let’s turn to Dave, who has been waiting patiently on the sidelines here for a chance to be heard. Most of his letter concerns some interesting, and to my mind intelligent, comments on the island proposition which I will not quote here but will take up at a later time when all of you have had an opportunity to comment. He says: “Apologies are in order. We both apologize — MacArthur and myself. I apologize because I haven’t been able to write regularly and MacArthur apologizes because he and others under his command have kept me so busy that I have not been able to write. No kiddin’, I’ve been busier since the war ended than I ever was during the war. We are handling all sorts of traffic now — a good part of it is messages to and from the Red Cross in Korea concerning guys that are trying to pull deals to get out of the Army. Seeing those messages sure are tempting. I keep thinking I ought to try to get out by claiming that I was needed to help you run the business. It’s funny, it was easy to think of maybe two or three years over here while the war was on, but now it’s awfully hard “sweating it out”. As to Dick and Lad, it’s beginning to look as if everyone will be home and possibly gone again by the time I get home. In one of your letters you enclosed some articles about the men getting out. We get the same stuff in the papers here but the fact remains that there are scores of 90-pointers here in the repple depples. Joe Bohn in our outfit has 81 points and he hasn’t heard anything yet. The morale is getting worse and worse all the time. It’s beginning to bother me now, because the longer the high pointers stay here, the longer it will delay my getting home. I figured sometime in late spring or early summer, and I sure don’t want to spend any longer — that’s plenty long enough to wait for a boat. Well, so much for our woes. Oh, one more thing. The next time you see a union man, tell him that he better get labor back in line because the servicemen are apt to give them one hell of a time when they all get back. I’ve had several Filipinos asked me about the strikes in the states. It must look awfully bad to these other countries to see the U.S. so torn as soon as the war is over. We were talking the other day and have come to the conclusion that the people of the U.S. are the only ones who actually feel that the war is over. The people of Europe, Russia, China, England and Japan are all licking their wounds. Those of us who are still out here see very little difference now than when the war was going on — the fighting is over but we aren’t home. So it’s just about the same. But in the states it’s all over — now they can slide back to their petty problems and forget the war. In the eyes of the rest of the world, this, the strongest country of all, must look pretty weak under all this upheaval over wages. We can almost smell the stench of it all out here.”

Tomorrow, the final piece of this letter.

On Saturday and Sunday, more Special Pictures.

Judy Guion

Dear Remnants of a Widely Scattered Family (2) – News From Dan – November, 1945

And this leads us quite naturally into quotations from Dan’s two letters received this week. To show the vagaries of the mail, the one which arrived here on Oct. 31st was written on October 31st and his Oct. 11th letter, reached here Nov.2nd, thus justifying the Scripture to the effect that “the last shall be first”, and in that order I shall set them down for your enjoyment: “My actual discharge is still somewhat nebulous, although I have completed most of the processing — which means that my physical examination has been made. The bottleneck is finance. The payroll is quite thoroughly “snafu-ed”. We came here under the impression that the process would make us civilians in 48 to 72 hours. Actually, they are geared to handle 10 men per day — while 30 to 50 men arrive per day. The “back-up” is considerable already and word of the situation has finally sifted up to higher HQ. I still have hopes of getting out in a couple of days, at which time I shall return to Paris to sign the contract with Graves Registration. I don’t remember how much I have told you about the job, but it will do no harm if I repeat that I shall be working as a surveyor “anywhere between Africa and Norway”, at a salary of between $2600 and $3400 per year depending on overtime. I shall be permitted to wear civilian clothes after working hours”.

The other: “I am a civilian (October 15, Etampes, France). I don’t know even yet what sort of work I shall be doing because I have spent all the week buying clothes (officer’s stores), getting photographed and fingerprinted for an identification card and passport and getting settled in my new quarters. The Grand Hotel de Passy is my temporary home. I have a room and bath with hot and cold faucets, which furnish each, an equal amount of cold water, a double bed with real sheets. I dine in the ritzy atmosphere of the Hotel Majestic, at two bits of throw. The tables are set with linen tablecloths, but luxury has compromised with realism in the rest of the table service. At any rate it is infinitely superior to eating chow from a mess kit. Paulette is going to visit me tomorrow and perhaps Tuesday and Wednesday, depending on circumstances. While she is here, she will be presented with the clothes you sent. She will be a very happy girl when she sees them. Thanks a million to you and Marian. If you have not already sent my brown suit, don’t bother. I have been able to get all the clothes I need from the QM stores, except for short-sleeved cotton underwear shirts. Please send me a dozen of these. My camera is still broken down. Please keep me in mind as soon as you can find a 35 mm camera. I am trying to have mine repaired but I am not too confident that it will be satisfactory. I spoiled two rolls of Kodachrome as a result of faulty

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repair work. Even if it doesn’t work, I can get a remarkably good price for it over here. Enclosed is a pamphlet of the type of baby’s bottle that Paulette wants. And of course she wants all the knitting wool she can get. One of the packages has two balls of blue and two of white. Perhaps you have sent more that has not yet arrived. Here is a list of clothes I have been able to buy over here: suit coat (army officers) neckties, bath robe, pajamas, underwear (no t-sleeves), overcoat, scarf, gloves, shirts, “overseas” hat, raincoat. So, you see, I am well outfitted. I have to wear the Army uniform on duty and I don’t think it wise to be burdened with too many civilian clothes in case I have to travel. Please check with Washington about facilities for wives of War Dept. employees. Promises have been made for room and board but no results have been evident. Thus, Paulette cannot be with me without tremendous expense. Love to all, Dan.”

Tomorrow and Friday, the rest of this long letter.

Judy Guion